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possible, and, as a last resource, stormed. When they have taken the citadel, they wear the colours on their sleeves, boast of their conquest for a while, then, in the mere wanton. ness of possession, level the fortification, rase bastion and donjon, and let who will plough up the site and sow it with salt. And I warn those who are being cajoled into surrender at the eleventh hour, that these besiegers never observe the terms of the capitulation they so solemnly swear to, and that the fall of the “ city of the violated treaty” is as nothing compared with the lot of one of these. There is an old French proverb, “ Château qui parle est près de se rendre." It answers to a true Italian one, “ Donna baciata è a mezza guadagnata.Don't parley, then, O you foolish young creatures, when Lord Lovelace comes a-wooing. Don't take Judas's kiss or Aaron Burr's compliments, or it will be the worse for you. You will never drive the besieger away, or under an honourable capitulation march out with drums beating or colours flying.

Happily, accomplished villains such as these are rare indeed. With any plentiful admixture of Lovelaces, Burrs, and Lauzuns, the world would be impossible, and society intolerable. Thank goodness for the shyness of most men. 'Tis true that the predominance of this last otherwise excellent quality might bring about some difficulties, but for a wise provision. If Jemmy is too shy to tell Jenny that he loves her, and if the delicate reticence of Jenny's sex prevents Jenny from telling Jemmy that she loves him, why, the matrimonial registrar might as well shut up shop; parish clerks, beadles, and pew-openers take to some new calling, and the "Order for the Solemnisation," &c., be expunged from the Prayer-book. But there comes the wisdom of the saving clause and safety-valve; and through its operation the boys and girls are relieved from the unpleasant chance of



passing the best time of their lives like the male and female scholars in a charitable institution—under the same roof certainly, but separated from one another by strong walls and high partitions—or from bobbing, and advancing, and ceding in a distressing manner, like the shaking Quakers at dancing-service.

A thoroughly shy man is a hopelessly dumb dog, as less an animal as a Dutch pug in Dresden china. is too shy to speak, too shy to write, too shy to speak to the girl's mother; and when he can muster up courage to move her sister, or a female friend, to intercede in his behalf with the object of his adoration, he generally explains his meaning in so awkward and ambiguous a manner, that the ambassador frequently takes the declaration to her. self. A common and futile expedient of the shy man is to bribe the waiting-maid, who pockets his douceurs, laughs at him, tells the baker all about his passion, describes him as a mean-spirited ninny to her young mistress, and plays into the hands of his rivals. I knew a woman of the world, of very great experience in marrying matters, who got seven daughters off, my dear, in three years and eight months. One married peer of the realm ; and Lucy's husband was high in the Direction of the late East India Company, and used to depose Indian kings and rajahs at dinner time, whose dominions, when in a generous mood, he sometimes restored to them at dessert over the port wine and filberts, telling them to be good boys and not skin bayaderes alive any more. This excellent mother and manager, whom I will call the Honourable Mrs. Metter: nick, once told me that an excellent plan to adopt in urging a parti to a declaration, when he was seemingly irrecoverably shy, was to employ some judicious young male friend if in the army it were preferable, as they understand well the management of these affairs at mess—



to make the

amorous but too modest swain tipsy with good, sound, generous Burgundy, and then push him into the drawing-room where his fair one was sitting. Younger sisters and children can always quit, or be sent out of the room on some pretence, This method she had tried, or advised the trial of in many cases, with signal success; yet even Mrs. Metternick was obliged to admit that occasional and disastrous failure had followed the adoption of the expedient. The shy man sometimes gets too tipsy, says too much, does too much, makes a dreadful fiasco of it in short, and is discarded as an intoxi. cated reprobate, when he is only the meekest and mildest of lambs, with a little too much dew off the daisies in his head.

No, no; try my specific, or rather observe the working of our bounteous matchmaker, Nature's remedy. "Tis in the girl to do it. Ah, Miss Innocence! Ah, Miss Modesty! Ah, Miss Unsophisticated !-- not Miss Affectation - you overdo and spoil your work. Ah, Miss Rural ! it is in your power to let Simple Simon know that you love him, and embolden the bashful youth to tell his love. And there are a thousand little artless ways in the girl's power to bring about this desirable consummation without derogating one iota, one pinpoint, one hair's breadth, from that maidenly modesty and sweet shrinking-back, without which a girl had much better be a ballet-dancer or a painter's model at once. You can tell him; you can let him know; you can teach him his A B C, and so on right through the accidence, without his ever dreaming that the blushing young lady before him is Dame Hornbook, the schoolmistress of Cupid's academy. You can do it with a smile, a sigh, a little tear falling on a locket, a reel of cotton dropped on the carpe, an odd glove, a stocking to be marked, and a finger inadvertently pricked, a picture in an album, a skein of silk be ound, a letter to be directed,

a word to be looked out in the Italian dictionary. I have known it


accomplished by searching for the text at church, by breaking a bootlace in the street, by losing a spaniel puppy out of a pleasure-boat, by having a fly's leg in one's eye, or a wasp in the room.

The electric spark is communicated ; but 'tis the girl plays the battery. "I love you, dear.” “ You love me? then I have loved you for months." These pleasant reciprocities cross with the rapidity of telegraphic messages, and somehow, the next moment Jenny and Jemmy Jessamy have settled to be married (P. et M. volente) on Monday six weeks. Jemmy, the shyest man in the world, forthwith furnishes an imaginary house in Gloucester Gardens ; and Jenny, the most innocent and retiring maiden in all Belgravia, trots away to order certain articles of millinery and dressmaking which she has had in her eye, and for this special purpose, any time this six months. Ah! pleasant time of courting!

Ah ! happy pairing Ah! blissful season of billing and cooing, that can come but once in the life of man or woman! That mutual understanding just after a boy and girl have agreed to wed is one season of unmixed happiness out of about three joyful times that the good God grants us in our pilgrimage here below. The bliss of the wedding day is not un. mingled, but full of cares and groundless fears. The second season is when the first child is born-the third


bebut this, alas ! is granted to but few of the children of

we can turn our face to the wall and wait for the cold visitor patiently and smiling, confident that the Worst is past, and that only a little wading through the cold lake remains before we are landed safely on the golden shore, where He stands with outstretched arms to welcome us. But , ah! to few is the last pillow so smooth—to few is the



tranquil. Let us still be thankful for those happy moments when we gaze in the eyes of those that love

last hour so

us-eyes that look back love again ; moments when the kind doctor holds the little babe to the weak, happy mother's breast; moments when the father looks at the fruit of his loins and thinks proudly, “ This is my Son.” It is as though the stern angel for once dropped his flaming sword, and suffered us to stroll for a short time within the well-guarded Eden, through whose railings we had often and vainly tried to peep, baffled by the umbrageous foliage, and persuading ourselves that we could hear, afar off, the silver singing of the birds. See ! here we are, in Eden. Here is the meadow ever green. Here are the flowers that never fade ; the ripple waters ever dancing and glittering in the eternal sun.

Lo! yonder the lion is lying down by the lamb, and the dove comes and mirrors its white plumage in the sable jaguar's shiny coat. But, ah! behold the dreadful Tree-a flattened head, a beady eye, a forked tongue, a body in scaly whorlscome crawling through the flowers. The time of happiness is gone and past. The angel hurries up, brandishing the fiery glaive, and drives us out into the world again.

I remember a silly song, sung years ago—a sort of sentimentally-comic ditty, which could be given with the greatest propriety at evening parties-called, " Why don't the men propose ?” My dear, half the men who are worth anything are too shy to propose. Of those who do pop the question, as the process is vulgarly but expressively called, fifty per cent. have sinister motives in asking the question the solution of which decides the happiness or misery of a girl. Why don't the girls propose, in the pretty modest manner I have pointed out ? There woulà be fewer bleak old maids in the world if they would take heart of grace, and act according to the rules I have set down for them. Fewer cases of withered hearts, frost-bitten noses, and favourised macaws and petted tomcats, would occur. When it comes to your time and turn, my

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